Already petering out, the Balkan expedition came to a decisive end with the death of Robert Guiscard in July 1085. This proved to be a severe blow to Bohemond's prospects. Although he was Robert's eldest son, his father had, soon after his birth, divorced his mother on grounds of consanguinity and remarried an Italian princess with whom he sired a second son. Named Roger - he was later given the appellation 'Borsa', meaning 'Moneybags', because he reputedly loved nothing more than to count coins - Robert, in honour of his new wife, designated him rather than Bohemond heir to southern Italy. Upon his father's death, Roger Borsa moved quickly to claim his inheritance, cutting a costly deal with his uncle, the count of Sicily, in return for confirmation of his status as Robert Guiscard's sole successor. With Roger in control of almost all of southern Italy, Bohemond suddenly found himself virtually penniless.
For the next decade, Bohemond fought an extended, sniping war to scrabble back control of some territory in the regions of Apulia and Calabria. One of his earliest successes was the occupation of Taranto, the town with which historians traditionally associate his name, though the real jewel of his hard-won lordship was the major port of Ban. By 1095, Bohemond had managed to establish a significant foothold in the extreme south of the Italian peninsula, but the full range of his ambitions was still largely held in check by the machinations of his brother and uncle. His restless energy and martial expertise seemed to make him an ideal candidate for crusade recruitment.
Bohemond was acquainted with the expedition's architect, Pope Urban II. The southern Italian Normans had been intermittent allies of the Reform papacy throughout the second half of the eleventh century and, at the start of his pontificate, Urban cultivated their support. Given that his sister was a fidelis beati Petri, familial connections may have brought Bohemond into the Reform circle. He certainly met Urban on at least three occasions, first at the council of Melfi in September 1089, and twice in 1092-3, when the pope actually visited Taranto.14 And it is quite possible that he attended the council of Piacenza in March 1095, at which the initial appeal from the Greeks was announced.
The problem was that Bohemond's past history of bitter conflict with the empire did not sit well alongside Urban's espoused policy of detente with Byzantium. The Norman may have been well suited to meet challenges of a long-distance campaign to the Holy Land, but it must have been obvious to all that he might find it difficult to sustain a co-operative alliance with his old enemy Alexius. When Bohemond did eventually take the cross, many suspected that he was actually planning a renewed offensive against the Greeks, and one contemporary even circulated the fantastical suggestion that the entire crusade was a plot, cooked up by Urban 'on the advice of Bohemond', who hoped that the expedition would facilitate his plan for a new Balkan campaign.15
In reality, Bohemond's recruitment was a mixed blessing. His gift for generalship promised to give the crusader host a much-needed edge in battle, but his presence threatened to undermine the critical Latin-Byzantine coalition. Bohemond did, however, bring one further asset to the cause. His decision to take the cross prompted an experienced, if not especially numerous, band of southern Italian Normans to join up, and among their number was a young man who would become a renowned champion of the crusading cause - Bohemond's own nephew, Tancred of Hauteville. Barely twenty years of age, possessed of limited military experience, but apparently able to converse in Arabic, Tancred quickly assumed the position of second-in-command of the loose contingent that followed Bohemond into the East. Tall, blond and powerfully built, Tancred was profoundly ambitious and untiringly energetic.16
It is a striking testament to the power of the crusading message unleashed by Urban II that it also stirred the hearts of men who, before 1095, had been avowed enemies of the Reform papacy. One such, Duke Godfrey of Bouillon, from the region of Lotharingia, stood entirely outside the network of papal supporters who formed the backbone of crusade recruitment. He had no history of collaboration with the Reform party, nor any known connections to the fideles beati Petri. In fact, he was openly hostile to the First Crusade's grand patron, Matilda of Tuscany. A staunch ally to Henry IV of Germany, Godfrey had actually participated in the siege of Rome. In spite of all this, he took the cross.
Godfrey was said to have been 'tall of stature, not extremely so, but still taller than the average man. He was strong beyond compare, with solidly built limbs and stalwart chest. His features were pleasing, his beard and hair of medium blond.17 He was born around 1060, the second son of the count of Boulogne, and could trace his lineage back to Charlemagne, a connection much romanticised by later commentators on the crusade. With the county passing to his elder brother, Godfrey faced limited prospects, but gained the title of duke of Lower Lotharingia when designated heir to his childless uncle and namesake, Godfrey the Hunchback, the estranged husband of Matilda of Tuscany.
In reality, the volatile region of Lower Lotharingia proved almost impossible to govern, his ducal title rather hollow, but he did control one significant stronghold - the castle of Bouillon, in the Ardennes, some seventy kilometres north of Verdun. Godfrey had some experience of warfare, but none of command, and no particular reputation for personal piety, being a known despoiler of Church land. It has been suggested that, in joining the expedition to Jerusalem, he was merely following the fashionable practice of his more esteemed northern French neighbours.
For all this, Godfrey demonstrated unbending dedication to the crusading ideal. The later tradition that he swore never to return from the crusade was probably false, but he did prove to be among the least self-serving of the Latin princes, and the most committed to completing the pilgrimage to the Holy Land.18 Godfrey was joined at the last minute by his brother, Baldwin of Boulogne, a figure who, like Tancred, would emerge from relative obscurity in the course of the crusade, demonstrating a bullish tenacity in battle and an almost insatiable appetite for advancement. Baldwin was apparently darker haired but paler skinned than his brother and was said to have a piercing gaze.19
These five princes - Raymond of Toulouse, Bohemond of Taranto, Godfrey of Bouillon, Tancred of Hauteville and Baldwin of Boulogne - shaped the course of the First Crusade. It was they who stood at the heart of this astonishing expedition, whose skill, ambition and devotion drove the enterprise, and by turns threatened to rip it apart, and they whose lives were utterly transformed by the crusading experience.
The other princes
Other Latin princes answered the pope's call to arms as well. Among these, the pre-eminent figure in terms of lineage was Hugh of Vermandois, brother of King Philip I of France, to whom historians have sometimes appended the rather misleading appellation 'Magnus' (the Great). Hugh was certainly proud of the royal blood flowing through his veins, but the actual physical resources at his command were quite limited. The small county of Vermandois seems to have furnished him with a relatively meagre fortune, and he managed to attract only a small contingent of followers to join him on crusade.
Robert Curthose, duke of Normandy, was also well connected, being the eldest son of William the Conqueror and brother to William Rufus, king of England. Although apparently possessed of an easygoing geniality, he later gained a reputation for indolence and a fondness for the finer comforts of life, but this probably owed more to his ineffective governance of Normandy than to any innate flaw of character. As duke, Robert faced almost constant harassment from his acquisitive brother, who pursued the reunification of his father's cross-Channel realm with dogged determination. In the years leading up to 1095, with the region beset by 'terrible disorder', Robert found it increasingly difficult to maintain control. One twelfth-century observer actually maintained that the duke took the cross only to escape the pressures of rule, but this seems unlikely given that Robert appears all along to have planned to return to Europe upon completion of the journey to Jerusalem.
Robert of Normandy began the crusade in the company of two other princes, Stephen, count of Blois, his brother-in-law, and Robert II, count of Flanders,
his cousin. Together, this tight-knit kinship group led a large northern French contingent of First Crusaders. Stephen was reputed to have been one of the richest lords in France, but little is known of his career before 1095, save that he was married to one of the most formidable women of the age, Adela, daughter of William the Conqueror. Robert of Flanders may have been inspired to take the cross by the example of his sadistic father and namesake who, less than a decade earlier, had completed a pilgrimage to Jerusalem as penance for his brutal and exploitative rule. Along the way, he had established a relationship with the Greek emperor Alexius, to whom he later sent 500 knights to aid in the defence of Byzantium.20
Almost all of these princes had experience of battle, but only Robert of Normandy and Bohemond had commanded large armies, and Bohemond alone had any familiarity with the Muslim world of the eastern Mediterranean. With Raymond of Toulouse's ambition to be recognised as commander-in-chief of the expedition still unfulfilled by the end of 1096, the First Crusade began without any obvious or accepted secular leader. Contrary to all the precepts of military convention, its armies would have to function without a single authoritative voice of command.
The challenge of controlling thousands of crusaders was going to be immense, all the more so because they were not drawn from a uniform or united source. Each prince who committed to the expedition brought with him a small party of his closest intimates, including members of his household - perhaps a seneschal, marshal or constable - his servants, a chaplain and even his huntsman. Major princes, like Godfrey of Bouillon, Bohemond of Taranto and Robert of Normandy, also attracted much looser, more fluid bands of followers, based on the bonds of lordship and family and perpetuated by common ethnic or linguistic roots. Stephen of Blois' party, for example, drew in many knights from his homeland region of Chartrain, some of whom were his vassals, but others simply informal supporters who were often powerful lords in their own right. The concept of national identity had little force in the eleventh century, but like-minded crusaders tended to club together. Four relatively distinct contingents evolved: the northern French under the two Roberts and Stephen; an array of Lotharingians and Germans travelling with Godfrey of Bouillon; the southern French and Provencals under the direction of Raymond of Toulouse; and
Bohemond’s company of southern Italian Normans. Evident tension, even open antipathy, persisted between the northern and southern French; they did, after all, have a history of enmity and spoke different languages, Languedor and Languedoc.
The First Crusade was thus a cellular, organic entity. It would be unrealistic, in 1096 at least, to speak of a single crusading army, because the Latin forces were actually made up of a disparate, even divided, array of contingents, between which there was considerable potential for conflict, and within which there were frequent opportunities for mobility through transferral of allegiance. Not surprisingly, contemporaries found it nearly impossible to estimate the size of such a diffuse force with any accuracy. Many resorted to wildly improbable figures of 500,000 or more. By our best estimate some 7,000 knights took the cross and were accompanied by perhaps 35,000 armed infantry. A horde of anywhere between 20,000 to 60,000 non-combatants attached itself to this militarised core. The not inconsiderable task confronting the crusader princes was to enforce some semblance of unity and direction upon this shifting mass. Their one advantage was that this somewhat haphazard host shared a powerful, unifying goal.21
TAKING THE CROSS
Most First Crusaders joined the expedition to Jerusalem at emotionally charged gatherings, where, having been whipped up into a frenzy by a rousing sermon on the virtues of the crusading ideal, they made a public commitment to the cause. This involved two ritual elements: the giving of a solemn vow to see the pilgrimage to the East through to the end by visiting the Holy Sepulchre of Jerusalem; and the adoption of a physical representation of the cross -a symbol which was just then becoming a popular totem of Christian devotion - to be carried on their person until the return journey to the West had been completed. By these two steps, the Church sought to capture and solidify the explosive force of the crusading message, using the binding, legal force of the vow and the instantly recognisable, visual symbol of the cross to ensure that the initial spontaneous enthusiasm actually resulted in participation. One contemporary later described Urban at Clermont declaring that:
Everyone who has decided to make this holy pilgrimage and has made a promise to God and has vowed that he will pour himself out to him as a living, holy and pleasing sacrifice must bear the sign of the Lord s cross on his front or breast. Anyone who after fulfilling his vow wishes to return must put the sign on his back between his shoulder blades.22
The crusaders certainly seem to have felt that these rites set them apart from the rest of society, their insignia proclaiming to all that they bore the status and obligations of armed pilgrims, and the burden of duty conferred by them later proved to have the power both to compel and inspire. But, for all their binding force, these rituals seem, at least in 1095-6, to have been relatively informal. There was probably no exact or established formula of words for the vow taken, nor does there seem to have been a universally recognised method for acquiring or wearing the cross. Most crosses seem to have been provided by the clergy, but Bohemond furnished his followers with theirs by cutting up his own cloak, while Godfrey of Bouillon's chaplain, Abbot Baldwin, dispensed with a cloth badge entirely, having his cross branded into the flesh of his forehead, a practice which was apparently quite widespread. Like so many features of crusade recruitment and practice, the rituals associated with taking the cross developed organically.23
Initial motives
It was once fashionable to suggest that the First Crusaders were primarily inspired to take the cross by greed, that the crusade was a grand adventure, offering the aspirant knights of Eurdpe an opportunity to amass untold fortunes of treasure and territory. It is true that, even at Clermont, Pope Urban II appears to have been aware that his audience might be attracted to the crusading cause by avaricious impulses. The decree describing the expedition that was recorded in the canons of the council stated: Whoever for devotion alone, not to gain honour or money, goes to Jerusalem to liberate the Church of God can substitute this journey for all penance.24
It has also been suggested that the appetite for materialistic gain was amplified by the wretched standard of living enjoyed by most Latins at the end of the eleventh century. A severe drought had afflicted much of France in the years before 1096, leading to a series of poor harvests and the resultant spread of famine. Then, while the crusade was actually being preached, the region was hit by outbreaks of ergotism, a rather grim disease caused by eating bread made from mouldy rye. The theory is that, faced by these horrors, the Latin West responded with rapturous enthusiasm to the image of the Levant as 'a land flowing with milk and honey'. The evidence provided by one contemporary observer certainly supports this idea, because he wrote that 'it was easy to persuade the western Franks to leave their farms. For Gaul had been afflicted for some years, sometimes by civil war, sometimes by famine, sometimes by an excessive death rate. Finally a plague .. . had terrified the people to the point at which they despaired of life.' Another contemporary conceded that it was difficult to be sure that all crusaders were driven by pure motives:
Different people give different reasons for this journey. Some say that in all pilgrims the desire has been aroused by God and the Lord Jesus Christ. Others maintain that the French lords and most of the people have begun this journey for frivolous reasons and that it was because of this that setbacks befell so many pilgrims ... and for that reason they cannot succeed.25
Of all the theories assigning acquisitive motives to the First Crusaders, the most enduring and influential has been the idea that the expedition was almost exclusively populated by land-hungry younger sons, deprived of inheritable territory at home in the West by the law of primogeniture, and thus desperately eager to establish new lordships in the East. This image is, how
ever, profoundly misleading.26
Some crusaders might fit this paradigm, at least to a degree -Bohemond of Taranto, for example, was certainly alive to the possibility that the journey to Jerusalem might furnish opportunities for the conquest of territory - but they were very much in a minority. For every crusader like Bohemond, there were countless more who, like Stephen of Blois and Robert of Flanders, already enjoyed secure possession of adequate, even expansive lordships. Some crusaders did, of course, at least entertain the possibility that they might end up settling in the Holy Land. In spite of his own immense Provengal power-base, Raymond of Toulouse seems to have had his eye on Levantine relocation and travelled east in the company of his third wife, Elvira.27
The reality was that most crusaders were inspired by a complex combination of motives; many must have harboured hopes that in the course of this devotional pilgrimage they might reap some personal gain. But perhaps the most significant insight into the medieval mentality offered by the First Crusade is the unequivocal demonstration that authentic Christian devotion and a heartfelt desire for material wealth were not mutually exclusive impulses in the eleventh century. We now know that greed cannot have been the dominant motive among the First Crusaders, not least because, as recent research has shown, for most participants the expedition promised to be utterly terrifying and cripplingly expensive.
The First Crusade Page 8
